CONNIE: [reading a magazine] "Why does Stevie Wonder need a computer?"

[pause]

DAVE: "Is there a punchline to this?"

CONNIE: "Well, there's a picture of him looking at computers. Or at least touching them."

[long pause, Dave giggles]

CONNIE: "I DON'T HATE BLIND PEOPLE!"

This true story comes to us from Connie's best friend, Mary. Actually, it comes from Mary's-friend's-internet-boyfriend's-assistant. We'll call Mary's-friend's-internet-boyfriend's-assistant, Meg.

So Meg's parents have friends in New York City. These friends, for whatever reason, had left town and invited Meg to apartment sit and take care of their dog, a medium sized German Shepherd (think about 80lbs.).

Upon arriving at the apartment, she opened the front door to find that the dear family pet had gone to puppy heaven.

Meg promptly calls Animal Control to tell her that she has a dead pet and wants to know what can they do about it. Animal Control says they can get someone to her in about two or three days OR if she can bring the dog to them, they can dispose of it properly and immediately. Meg however, does not have access to a car, but she can't have the dead dog laying around for three days.

Meg decides that she needs to take the dog to Animal Control, but the Animal Control center is WAY across town.

She proceeds to rummage around the apartment looking for something to carry the dog in and finds a duffel bag. She places the dog inside and heads out.

Meg figures the best way to get to the center is via subway. It will be cheaper than a taxi and is the most direct way there.

During the subway ride, with a duffel bag full of dead dog on her arm, a decent looking guy begins to chat up Meg. He asks how she is, blah, blah, blah, and makes some subtle moves. Then he asks her, "What's in the bag?" The bag of course is clearly heavy and the contents are very oddly shaped since the dog is probably in rigor. Meg can only come up with the answer or, "Electronics." She figured "electronics" would be heavy and pointed...I guess.

Meg's stop approaches and she tells the guy, "This is my stop," the guy tells her that it also happens to be his. The two make their way up the stairs to street level...

...WHERE HE PROMPTLY SHOVES HER TO THE GROUND AND STEALS THE BAG.

Have fun with that, you stupid asshole.

TRAVELS UPDATED: Looks like next week I'll be heading home but for business. I'll probably have some free time, but not much, so please don't be all, "He didn't even call." And then from there I'm flying from Chicago on to New York, also for business. It'll be exhausting, but fun.

Eff. The above should now read, I'm flying to New York for business. Meh. Some of you have already recieved your "I'm not coming home" phone calls, others of you are in Vegas getting married...Kelly Moore. Anyway, things got delayed but I'll probably be coming home in about two or three weeks but I'm not going to promise any Dave-face time just yet.

And onward. Buckle and I were back at the Home Depot Center last night to watch the Los Angeles Galaxy take on Real Madrid. Now, I don't think the Galaxy played as bad as Buckle did, and neither did Michael Owen. The game was amazing, and getting to see Beckham even take a free kick was awesome. In the end, Galaxy ONLY lost 2-0 and I left empty handed with no Chinchilla jerseys to be found.

Some photos from the night are in my Flickr stream...and a picture of Buckle next to a sign that says "HERPES."

So over the last few weeks, I've been dreaming a lot, and I'm usually not a dreamer at all. A few recent and boring scenarios I can remember were watching TV with friends to coming home to help reopen the cafe I worked in near the end of my years in high school.

But last night, was something amazing. Usually, my dreams aren't warped or twisted, they're just boring. But not last night.

So I was playing the part of Jesus in some sort of celebrity/history/stand-up act. Yeah. I remember sitting in the dressing room, ready to roll with my long brown wig and fabulous white robe. And the path to the stage was lit with long fluorescent tubes up to the stage.

The best part is, of course, I was wildly unprepared. I scoffed at reading the script, told everyone I was just going to wing it. At one point I turned to the make-up crew and asked, "How's this...I'm Jesus, I'm perfect, I created Jessica Alba!"

What?

The rest is a mess from waking up. Somewhere in there, Prince was dressed up as Ulysses S. Grant and the audience was packed with celebs.

So there you have it. Jesus.

I know this is almost a month old, but if you haven't thought about R. Kelly much lately, you really need too.

Good ol' R. has seen his fair share of bad press over the last, what? Six years? But "Trapped In A Closet" is changing ALL of that. If you haven’t seen this BRILLIANT campaign yet, go now:

http://r-kelly.com/index_main.html (under “VIDEO”)

The entire video collection of R. Kelly’s lyrical soap opera is available on his site. Here’s a lyric excerpt from chapter one (of FIVE)…and I didn’t alter this at all:

He looks at the closet (closet)
I pull out my berretta (berretta)
He walks up to the closet (closet)
He’s close up to the closet (closet)
Now he’s at the closet (closet)
Now he’s opening the closet (closet, closet, closet)

GO.

HURRICANE BOBBIE: Connie's mom was in town over the fourth of July weekend. It was nice to see her, I haven't since Connie graduated. We did the usual tourist stuff in this town, along with everyone else that's on summer break.

THE RE-DEATH OF JEANS: Thanksgiving of 2003, that's when blue jeans came back into my life. We were off to go camping in Mexico, and all I owned were khaki pants. I actually had not even owned a pair of jeans since probably 1998. Anyway, a couple weeks ago, I discovered these GAP pants, bought several pair, and the jeans are now tucked away.

TRAVELS: Looks like next week I'll be heading home but for business. I'll probably have some free time, but not much, so please don't be all, "He didn't even call." And then from there I'm flying from Chicago on to New York, also for business. It'll be exhausting, but fun.

RENO 911!: If you haven't been watching, you suck. Junior throwing the cat into the air conditioning unit ranks right up there with Family Guy puke-fest from last weekend's episode.

So I was trying to think of a clever line as to explain how badly this trailer makes me want to eat broken glass, rusty razors and lick the inside of a drano tube. All I could come up with was:

"It's about FIVE HUNDRED TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED NINTY-NINE minutes too long..."

I mean, YUCK. And I know there are those of you who will insert your automatic repsonse of "Dave hates musicals." But come on...watch that trailer...yuck.

Look. Here's the rule.

If someone BRINGS you your food, then it is okay to leave dishes on the table for the persons of the eatery or establishment to remove.

HOWEVER, if YOU bring your food to a table or other place in which to eat (food courts, movie theaters, cafeterias, etc.), then YOU are responsible for removing it.

When you leave your used dished on a table at a food court, you not only show disrespect to persons who shouldn't have to clean up after you, but you also piss me off by making that table useless until previous persons find time to clean it.

Stop it. You have been warned.